Splinter Cell: Black Operations
by SplinterCell37
Summary: The Osprey headed towards its destination as Lambert informed Sam Fisher of the latest threat to freedom: Roland Strain, CEO of an oil rig, has been captured. Sam Fisher must discover who his captors are, and what they need with oil...
1. Transport

**Chapter 1:**

Transport

The Osprey banked sharply as it changed course to Melbourne, Southeast Victoria. Sam Fisher had never been to Australia, the island continent, but had sailed past the east coast of Queensland, best known for its sunny beaches.

It had been some time since Sam had last taken a yachting trip with his daughter Sarah. That was back in the year 2004, when Sam had unexpectedly been called up by a recently formed sub-agency Third Echelon, the third initiative under the NSA. The reason for Fisher to have been chosen for Third Echelon's maiden voyage was due to his impressive military record as a Navy S.E.A.L in Kuwait.

His mission back then was to locate and extract missing field operatives who had disappeared without a trace immediately after an interesting find in the Georgian political cabinet. Allison Madison had found something, but then Echelon lost contact. William Robert Blaustein, after being sent in to find her, disappeared too. It was only Sam Fisher who returned alive, informing Echelon that the CIA had lost two operatives.

At the time, his field runner had been a 37 year old red-head man named Vernon Wilkes Junior; he had been shot down after Fisher had retrieved a 'key' from Kalinatek scientist Ivan.

After a set of difficult missions, the president of Georgia – Kombayn Nikoladze – had been working with Chinese General Kong Feirong to locate a coveted nuclear suitcase bomb, a SADM (Special Atomic Demolition Munition) called The Ark. Kombayn confessed to having hidden The Ark on American soil. To be precise, it was in Hopes Gate, Washington D.C.

After a thick fire fight with Varlam Kristavi's soldiers (the CIA had placed him as the Georgian president for the time being), Fisher assassinated Nikoladze and escaped flying bullets as he leapt into the awaiting Osprey and was flown safely back to the States.

He was informed that The Ark itself had been safely recovered and 'disposed' of. The trigger was found in the safe where The Ark was originally kept, and most likely it would have been disposed of as well. If not, its existence and that fact it was maintained was kept secret for the sake of the general public's feeling of security. Sam Fisher – despite being the field operative responsible for the successful execution of his missions which brought about the safety of American citizens and its president – was not informed either. He supposed he was merely the tip of the spear, and did not entirely need to know the purposes or outcomes of which he was used. It could get irritating, though; not entirely knowing the fruits of your labours and having to be satisfied with the fact you have ensured the safety of those who deserve it.

Two years and a number of minor assignments later, he was sent onto the field for a second time in the year 2006, the current year. This time, it was Indonesia…a recently constructed American Embassy – a temporary military base in East Timor, was struck by a devastating terrorist attack carried out by the Darah Dan Doa (blood and prayer), headed by guerrilla Suhadi Sadono who was unofficially supported by corrupt Jakarta government factions.

The building almost collapsed from the explosion, but it held firm. Survivors were held hostage without option of ransom and interrogations were made by the guerrilla force. Sam infiltrated the Embassy in Dili and, to his great surprise and joy – as far as that was capable with the practically wooden Sam Fisher – found himself rescuing his former SEAL ally and co-soldier Douglas Shetland.

The same height as Sam at 6 foot, heavier by 6 pounds at 201 lbs, and four years older than Fisher at 47; Shetland met Fisher back in the Kuwait operations when they were both Navy SEALS and have been friends since. Shetland is now the CEO of Displace International; a mercenary company with connections to western militaries including the U.S. Sam was forced to speak briefly to him before continuing his mission and locating deadly information which must not fall into enemy hands.

After obtaining the information by hacking Shetland's computer and deleting the file, Sam had been forced to seek out a person who could translate the dialect Timorese Mombae; that person was Ingrid Karlthson.

Following trails which lead to a Cryogenics Lab in Saulnier, Paris, on a train heading for Nice, infiltrating the jungles of Jakarta, and finally capturing the Darah Dan Doa leader, Sadono, Sam learned of his ploy – to unleash a deadly virus on the world. Sam Fisher put a stop to this smallpox disease, capturing Suhadi at a TV Station where a threatening broadcast was being filmed, and after handing the prize to Karlthson, Fisher set off to L.A, infiltrating an airport and killing mercenary Norman Soth before he activated the last remaining ND133, a vacuum powered storage device.

The police found the storage device and secluded it in a reinforced steel container for disposal while Sam walked out; his second major assignment finished without a hitch. Coen could be a mean driver, however; he still remembered the vehicle flying between traffic at phenomenal speed and screeching to a halt. Some of the worse memories of his missions; like Mouke Tso Bo in China, too. Abattoir had felt like suicide; a spotlight-covered minefield, a freezer in which meat was stored (he could still remember the frozen stench filling the room alongside the icy smoke), automated turrets everywhere…completing the mission objective was hell in its own right, too:

Hacking the right turrets to make sure they killed passing terrorists, deactivating the right turrets, waiting for the right moment to throw the fragmentation grenade, listening for the sound of footsteps and agitated voices screaming orders, waiting for the opportune moment to leap out from behind a wall and unleash a spray of Five-Seven bullets, making sure the Chinese officials nor the American Army soldiers were injured or killed…and all the while, trying to conserve enough Five-Seven and F-2000 bullets to take down Vyacheslav Grinko when he emerged from his seat of power as lieutenant under Nikoladze to kill this armed ninja from the U.S who was wreaking havoc on their plans to broadcast the brutal slaughtering of captured American soldiers, as a threatening sign of firm persistence that their wishes will be met or else others will suffer…

That was the worst of all. Making others die just to prove that they will not hesitate to kill another hostage. It was the nastiest way to go to the afterlife – nothing more than proof of a terrorist's vicious determination. Few things could really make Fisher sick – that was one of those few things. It was inhumane cruelty and inconsideration, nothing more.

Sam's thoughts drifted back to his SEAL days. The last time he saw Shetland was back there, in Kuwait. And now he appears without warning as CEO of a private military organization…typical of Douglas, Fisher thought. Always hanging on to the excitement of military life; seeking out action, not waiting for it. Shetland had always been most comfortable on the frontlines of battle.

Sam was indifferent on the matter, but due to his impressive skill he usually finds himself there nonetheless. Sam was often indifferent on most things, and prefers to stay removed; not much of a socialite, either, but he was keenly observant of everything. He preferred solitude rather than being in an active society, but still enjoyed the company of old friends, like Shetland and Arthur Partridge.

Partridge was an old and great friend, a Naval Captain and a good one at that…one of the Navy's top, on his way to Admiral. He was Fisher's commanding officer for a short time while he was a SEAL. He's captain of the USS Clarence E Walsh and is still an old friend to Fisher, keeping contact via telephone and electronic mail.

Sam's thoughts drifted once again to Douglas. A reliable companion, he had proved himself in the field of combat more than once. He had also saved Fisher's life innumerable times, and vice versa. They were brothers in arms; using skill, speed, and each other to survive. They used co-operation to help survive the Gulf War. The team had always excelled in combat.

Sam Fisher rose and ambled over to a weapons rack suspended on the wall. His assault rifle had been a confusing state of affairs. Starting out as an FN F2000 SD, equipped with a 40mm grenade-turned-multipurpose launcher, it had been modified by Saul Berkovitz near the Guerla Street Market. He had altered the barrel to make firing less noisy by reducing the sonic placement.

Nonetheless, it was an excellent modular assault weapons system (M.A.W.S). The assault rifle calibre was 5.56 x 45 mm and uses the NATO operating principle; gas operated, rotating bolt, with a bullpup system and a muzzle velocity of 900 metres a second. The gun was 694 mm long with a 400 mm barrel, but with the grenade launcher, the barrel length was 230 mm and the gun itself, 727 mm. But the gun was only 3.6 kg without the M-16 type magazine which could contain 30 cartridges, a comfortable weight and enough ammunition to last a brief fire-fight with one cartridge. The gun had a rate of fire of 850 rounds a minute; cutting down enemies in seconds. That was a good thing in Sam's business; the longer they stand when they are aware of your presence, the more of a hazard they become to you. The multipurpose launcher also allowed him to fire Ring Airfoil Projectiles, a CS Gas Canister (0-chlorobenzalmalononitrile), an adhesive 'Sticky Shocker'; all three were made to incapacitate, a Sticky Camera; an adhesive device for scouting areas which had pan and vision mode capabilities, and a Distraction Camera, an adaptation of the Sticky Camera which replaced panning and vision modes with a noisemaker and a CO2 gas canister. The device was made to attract enemies with the whistling noisemaker and dispense a cloud of incapacitating gas when the enemy is within range.

Combined with the fact that the modified optical sight sports a range of up to 8x – which is convenient for dealing with long-range tangos – and the gun is accurate enough to penetrate the skull of a terrorist at, say, 50 metres or so, plus it's high amount of modifiability (the weapon could be equipped with various firing attachments e.g. shotgun, less-than-lethal launcher, etc), makes the FN F2000 a 'black operative's best friend'.

But it wasn't the black operative's _only_ friend, however. Alongside its larger component was the FN Five-Seven Tactical pistol. Packing high firepower, high hit probability, high stopping power yet lightweight and ease of use in one weapon the Five-Seven was an extremely reliable pistol, with a calibre of 5.72mm and a 20 round magazine. For field missions, it is equipped with a flash suppressor and accuracy laser. It was also equipped with a Laser Microphone Tactical Audio Kit, for eavesdropping on crucial conversations. Recently, Echelon had supplied Fisher with an Optically Channelled Potentiator, which disabled electronic devices like light bulbs and television monitors. Also, Sam Fisher had just been issued with a tactical knife for disposing of difficult opponents. Sam wasn't too keen of the idea of gutting enemies, but he supposed it had had to be done. His eyes also drifted to his night vision goggles, which allowed him to see in the dark by amplifying light on the lower end of the infrared spectrum. It also packed a thermal vision to pick up signals on the upper end of the spectrum, emitted as heat. Dermot P. Brunton has implemented a new addition: the Electronically Enhanced Vision, also known as EEV, which allows Sam to scan electronic devices and display that object's properties. It can also be used to access computers and hack them remotely. The wonders of technology, he thought, more or less indifferently.

Another technological wonder was Sam Fisher's Optical Satellite Uplink, commonly called OPSAT. Manufactured by Palm, it was a compact wrist-mounted military design similar to standard PDAs constructed for civilian use, but enhanced for the field of op. Third Echelon transmits mission details, objectives, personnel and blueprints for the mission. It also displayed direct feed from Sticky Cameras, Diversion Cameras and the Optic Cable, a flexible cable camera that Sam uses to slip under doors and view the room beyond. It was very useful for reconnaissance. Sam was also equipped with a standard lock pick, a camera jammer for disrupting surveillance devices, occasionally motion-sensitive wall mines, a Flash Bang, and a M67 fragmentation grenade with a 2.5 inch shell protecting 6.5 ounces of high explosive.

A voice called from the front of the Osprey, and Coen, his field runner, emerged. "Get ready," she said, "We've almost reached the objective."


	2. Insertion

**Chapter 2:**

Insertion

Sam Fisher turned to face his field runner. She had replaced Junior Wilkes after he died by the hands of terrorists, trying to save Sam Fisher while he ran to the Osprey for extraction from the Kalinatek building. He believed her to be of Japanese origin or something like that. He nodded grimly at her.

The panel beeped. It was Lambert, Sam Fisher's organiser. He did all the briefing and Intel.

"Fisher, you online?" the deep voice of Lambert boomed through the speaker. Sam spoke into the in-built microphone.

"I'm here, Colonel. About to suit up and move out, but an elaborate description of the mission parameters and objectives would be nice. All I know is I'm flying towards the 'Land Down Under'."

Colonel Irving Lambert was clear-cut and precise; he was not going to beat around the bush. "A small suburb in Melbourne, Victoria is your destination, and Roland Strain is your objective; he's being held hostage and the only reason we've managed to find out is something to do with an oil ransom. That was discerned from a muffled transmission to a remote location in Russia we managed to intercept." His calm, clear voice was replaced by the muffled voice of a terrorist unknown.

"Roland Strain…caught hostage…under heavy guard, we…force him to…trying to get enough oil for…possibly ransom…over."

Lambert spoke once again. "That was all. We need you to find out more, and try and get Strain free. We also need to know the name and specifics of the organization which nabbed him." He was so sharp and quick he sounded irritable.

"You don't sound on top of the world, Lambert."

"Of course not; we need that oil. It's crucial for not only civilian use but for military operations, as well. It fuels our defence." Lambert retorted. He was in no mood for idle chit-chat.

"Maybe that's why they need the oil." Sam reasoned.

"We thought of that too, but we can't put it down as definite until we have concrete facts. Speaking of concrete, we also need to know how they got that perimeter."

"You mean that huge flood barrier?" asked Sam, glancing out the side window.

"Yes, it wasn't there originally. It borders the shore; the other side of town is barred by harsh and mountainous terrain. We need to know how they managed to get it there. If they can transport that, who knows what else they could do. If it wasn't international transport…" he paused, and then continued.

"We also need you to take care of any communication. We don't want them contacting anyone from the outside and alert them to our presence…should it be revealed."

"Is it allowed to be revealed? What are my restrictions?"

"Your presence there is non-existent. You are a ghost in almost every sense of the word, except you're not dead, and nor should you be. You have the fifth freedom, Fisher…do whatever you have to do, just get Strain out of there without making the terrorists know you're doing it. And Fisher…make good use of that knife. Over and out."

Sam Fisher nodded to himself as he cocked his silenced FN Five-Seven, loaded it with a fresh magazine and holstered it, placing spare ammunition in a pouch. He was to be the unseen yet lethal, unknown yet brutal predator. He attached the launcher to his FN F2000 and placed on its holder, conveniently positioned on his back. He would be the sliver of glass; small, sharp, and invisible. The sort of splinter which is never seen until it is too late. He placed equipment, devices, gadgets and the launcher ammunition inside various compartments of his prototype SIGNIT Covert Suit, and opened the hatch. The wind whipped against him viciously, threatening to tear his skin from his bones. The weather at this altitude was furious, but Sam had had to live through worse than this at Kuwait. He adjusted the Vision Goggles on his scalp, pressed the lens against his forehead, stared at the ominous clouds and roaring winds accompanied by pouring rain…and leapt.

He struggled against the current of the wind. He fought the strength of his velocity. He resisted the intense acceleration and denied the adrenaline. Struggling with his gloves, he spoke into his communicator:

"Lambert, remind me why I'm doing this."

"If you don't, you'll be taking your bike to work instead of your car."

Lambert was in a grim sense of humour. Sam shutdown his body and did not struggle, he did not resist. He was that sliver of glass; quiet, undetected, infiltrating and exfiltrating without being seen or heard.

He was a Splinter Cell.


	3. Infiltrating hostile territory

**Chapter 3:  
**  
Infiltrating hostile territory

Every muscle tense, every inch of his body in preparation for what was to come, he glanced at his built-in altimeter of his OPSATIt was still red. It was still only 5000 feet, 1 minute thirty seconds. His tight suit was pressed firmly against his skin and he was beginning to feel the effects of a long fall. He pulled – almost yanked – his arm to his chest, which was a slow operation due to the intense velocity, and he looked the altimeter. It was still red, but army training told him that he had only a couple of seconds left. Patience was a virtue and something every soldier needed for his sanity to survive in wartime. A black operative needed the virtue more by a tenfold. Only a couple of seconds before…as if on cue, the red light flickered and changed to green. He gripped his backpack and pulled a cord. He was suddenly whisked into the air, the sensation of speed suddenly taken from him and replaced with a jerk. He looked up. The parachute was intact. It was dubious it would have survived the situation, but it held out. He allowed the wind to drift him closer and closer to the ground, but…wait…damn. He was floating further and further in the direction of the open sea. He'd have to cut off the parachute and try to survive the fall. It was too risky. He'd have to wait. He wished he had his balaclava mask and scuba gear right now, but that was out of the question. His footsteps would be too obvious. He had to jettison the parachute and try to land on the shore with hurting himself too much. It was going to be hard.

"Fisher, report."

"Successful HAHO jump, Lambert, despite almost losing the use of my legs. The wind was carrying me out to sea, and I had to cut myself loose and land on the sand. Is there any chance of a slightly closer deployment next time? That might be easier on my limbs. I'm only human, you know."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question; the terrorist population would have seen the Osprey and immediately notified any external contacts. They may have even used Strain as a tool to get their ends." Sam Fisher winced.

"Well, at least, could we have boat deployment next time?"

"That would have been out of the question as well. The seas are far too rough to keep a vessel topside. But you have a point there," he admitted grudgingly. "Maybe next time we have a kidnapping. I'm inputting the objectives into your OPSAT." Lambert signed off.

Fisher checked his OPSAT just as it updated.

Primary Objectives:

Locate and free Roland Strain

Do not rescue any civilians

Secondary Objectives:

Disable all communications

Identify his captors

Opportunity Objectives:

Discover how the flood barrier was placed

Sam spoke into his microphone. "Why am I leaving civilian hostages alone?"

"We can't risk them losing their nerve. They're not trained in shadow ops, so they can't move around undetected like you can. They might get killed, and we're not allowing civilian casualties." Lambert paused, and Sam heard typing. His OPSAT updated, including 'No civilian casualties'. Lambert continued, "Don't worry; I'm sending in Shadownet operatives to take care of them and the terrorists, too. You just need to deal with Strain."

Sam nodded, accustomed to the fact that sometimes Splinter Cells in training would complete missions Sam could not; and then froze. "Lambert…I'm going to have to sign off. Looks like the parachute rendered some attention after all."

Lambert scowled. "Get out of there, Fisher, but _don't let them _inform their head officer!" Sam mentally nodded, pressed himself against the sand without actually touching it with his arms, and slowly moved across the beach with his hands and feet. He rolled sideways noiselessly as the pair of terrorist scouts reached the parachute. Sam slowly rose to a crouching position and began to follow them at a distance.

In his years he had discovered that the one shadow that no-one is ever suspicious is their own. A technique Sam learnt during his recent operations is when you become a lithe predator, stalking the prey, waiting for the ideal moment to strike. When you're close enough to hear his breath, when you're closer than ever; every step he takes is a step you've given him, every decision and choice he makes is a choice you've permitted, until it's time to go your separate ways…and then, the choice is yours alone. His hand dropped to his gun as they stopped at the foot of the parachute, and Sam's Five-Seven was slowly removed from its holster. As Sam rose to his feet, the pistol in his hand, he heard them say "Looks like the Night Vision goggles do work. There _was_ a parachute." But instead of shooting the terrorist in front of him…his hand snaked around his neck, slowly at first, and then he pulled his arm backward, carrying the terrorist's neck along with it. He raised his gun and pointed over the terrorists shoulder. He pulled the trigger and a soft _thoom_ – accompanied by recoil and a smoking bullet shell ejected from the pistol – was the last sound the second terrorist heard. He fell backwards and landed on the soft sand with a thud. The first terrorist was frozen in Sam's arms, shocked by the image of a fallen comrade. He tried to see who his captor was, but all he knew was that he had a strong grip and a sharp knife.

"Quiet…This far from the mainland; no-one can hear you scream."

"Oh…God…please let me live!"

"I'm not God, but I'll see what I can do…if you give me some information."

"What? Anything! I'll tell you anything. Just don't kill me!"

"Alright…Where have you taken Roland Strain?"

"What; who? I don't know who you're talking about!"

Sam tightened his grip. "Don't play coy with me, soldier. I know you're holding him here somewhere."

"No! Please don't hurt me! I honestly don't know who Mr. Strain is!"

Sam cursed under his breath. "Has anybody been transported away from here?"

"Um, not that I…oh yeah, there was one person escorted out of here. I thought he was some sort of V.I.P or something; they had a lot of bodyguards and someone was talking to him cordially. They drove off into the mountains somewhere."

Sam sighed. "Ok, thanks. Do you know anything else?"

"Uh…like what?"

"Who are you working for?"

"S-some PMC from Moscow called Striker Supremacy; I think they're Russian but I don't know. I've seen some other nationalities as well. They're very secretive and barely anyone knows they exist. I was approached personally for the job of mercenary."

"Do you know why they would need oil?"

"Oil?" He inquired, surprised. "No, not that I know of…I do know that they're working on a hush-hush project called Project Atom, but I don't know anything about oil…"

Sam interrupted. "One more thing. Do you know how that flood barrier got there?"

The terrorist glanced wildly at the barrier. "Uh, no! I've told you all I know! Please don't kill me!"

Sam consented, tightening his grip and twisting at a certain angle to render the target unconscious. The pain is minor and temporary, and the target sleeps for several hours, or until woken. It is convenient for stealth operations.

To be continued...


End file.
